Windows and Doors
by Teobi
Summary: (Or: The Uneventful Week). Norman isn't always out murdering people. Just like the rest of us, Norman has his mundane days where nothing really happens at all.
**A/N:** My interest in Anthony Perkins and Psycho has been rekindled over the last week or so. I have not seen either Psycho or Psycho II in a long while, but last night I watched Psycho III. It was sleazy as all hell but a lot better than I remembered from when I first saw it. Moments of genuine fright, moments of intense dark humour, lots of creepy weirdness, Jeff Fahey was brilliant and Anthony Perkins was literally chomping at the bit to get into full flow as Norman Bates, the most sympathetic and strangely lovable all-out murderous multiple personalitied killer ever in the history of everything. How did he do it? :)

This offering right here is a general Psycho fic not particularly based on any of the films. It's definitely set after Psycho II because he has Mother back. So maybe a kind of Psycho III -ish setting, with no references to any of the people or events in that movie. Idk- it's just me making up a week in Norman's life where nothing really happens. I mean, he wasn't out murdering people every single day. It was usually only when people came snooping and meddling. Anyway, for what it's worth I hope you like this story and please do leave a comment to let me know if I've made any glaring errors, which I have tried to avoid but can never be 100%, especially since I have not seen most of the films for a while. Thank you, and hope you enjoy!

oOoOoOo

 **Windows and Doors**

 _ **(Or: the Uneventful Week)**_

On Monday, a lone businessman arrives at the Bates Motel. He's weary from the day, and not one for small talk. That suits Norman fine- he takes the guy's money and hands over the key to Cabin 5. He doesn't pick Cabin 5 for any particular reason, it just happens to be the first key his slender fingers pluck from the key board. The man accepts the key, goes to his room, spends an uneventful evening watching television and sleeps fairly soundly through the night. In the morning he comes to the office, refreshed, to hand back the key. He thanks Norman for the hospitality, makes an offhand remark about how _quiet_ it is out here, climbs in his car and departs without fanfare. Norman hooks the key back on the board and thinks no more of it. If only all guests were so easy.

On Tuesday, a couple arrives. The car rumbles off the highway, tires kicking up gravel, bright sunshine bouncing off the roof. Norman stands in the shade of the porch, leaning languidly against the rail. He eyes the woman with mild interest as she clambers awkwardly out of the car as though this were her first time in it. She's an effusive, giggly redhead but her partner, holding the door open for her, is plain and paunchy with a pronounced bald spot and a wonky pair of spectacles. Norman can't imagine what she sees in him, but he knows, from experience, that _it takes all kinds to make a world,_ and that there is _no accounting for taste._

By the time they are ready to check in, Norman is already behind the counter, standing guard over the register. The guy's voice is a little on the high-pitched side, which irritates Norman for some reason he can't put his finger on. Meanwhile the redhead leans against the counter, beaming at Norman in what he can only describe as _an inviting manner_. He is taken aback by her brazen self-confidence but can only blink at her like an owl peering down from a tree. She maintains eye contact until he's forced to look away before his throat dries up completely. By the time he's gathered his wits enough to glance shyly at her through lowered eyelashes, she has already returned her undivided attention to her squeaky, bespectacled companion.

After signing the register and trying to make Norman laugh with a few jokes that he doesn't find funny, the odd couple finally departs with the key for Cabin 3. Norman, his head spinning, looks down at the scrawled signatures on the page. Seeing their names, he snorts like a newborn colt.

"' _Mr. and Mrs. Smith_ '? Do they take me for a complete fool?"

He glances out of the door with narrowed eyes, listening intently for tell-tale snippets of conversation. Perhaps he should have given them Cabin 1- but it's too late now. And besides- Norman knows his heart isn't in it. Married or not, she really isn't his type; and anyway, she's taken. Or she _will_ be, very soon, and there are certain things even Norman doesn't want to see.

He shakes his head and returns to the house, climbing the steps with affected world-weariness. _If Mother chimes in with her inevitable two cents, I'll just ignore her... you see if I don't._

On Wednesday morning the oddly mismatched couple come to the office to return their key. They seem strangely subdued and leave without any trace of their bright cheerfulness from the day before. This change of attitude doesn't impact in any way on Norman, who spends the day cleaning rooms, making beds, and taking out the trash. He strides from cabin to cabin, throwing windows and doors wide open. He rips the sheets off the bed in cabin 3, burying his nose deep into their sweaty folds before roughly stuffing them into the laundry hamper.

 _Cheap, nasty perfume, just as I thought. She really would not have been worth it, even if by some miracle Mother had given me her full blessing._

He gets down on his knees and scrubs bathrooms thoroughly, even the ones that haven't been used. He's scrubbed so many bathrooms in his time that he's gotten it down to a fine art. He whistles while he works, his broad shoulders and lanky frame made surprisingly compact. He folds himself right into the corners. It's easy to remove even the smallest stain, once you know what you're looking for. He scrubs and cleans and sweeps and scours until the whole place smells of lemon bleach and the sun is going down. Only then does he stop to chew some candy corn and admire his robust handiwork. If the Bates Motel right now were a ship, she would surely be fit to sail the seven seas, and then some!

On Thursday morning, after a surprisingly restful sleep uninterrupted by Mother, Norman goes into town for much needed supplies. The townsfolk are polite, but a little distant- oh, they all say hello and ask him how he is, but he's awkward and jittery with them and they soon fall away, muttering distractedly. Norman doesn't mind them being a little standoffish. He fears interruptions, preferring to get things done as quickly and as efficiently as possible so that he can come home and be with... be on his own, where he's _safe_. Sometimes he thinks that he wouldn't get into half the trouble he does, if only people would leave him alone instead of prying into his personal business.

Norman packs away his groceries (Ritz Crackers, peanut butter, a large block of cheese and a loaf of bread, two gallons of milk) and starts watching a cop show on TV. But his mind won't settle- he blanks out the wailing sirens and jarring background music and gazes out of the window at the bird table, his thoughts growing fuzzy in the afternoon heat. He's not thinking about anything much at all, when out of the blue he hears a woman laughing as if she's right there in the room with him. His heart lurches- almost _stops_ , before he realizes it's coming from the TV. The cop show has ended and now it's some kind of comedy about women. _Lots_ of women. Norman switches off the TV before his mother wakes up and hears all those women laughing. He clutches his pounding chest and checks his wristwatch to find that an hour and a half have gone by without him even noticing.

Norman fixes himself a glass of milk and stands at the window to drink it. He hears a car pull up outside the motel, down below. He drains his glass, puts it down on the counter and rolls his head side to side to ease out the kinks in his neck. He really isn't in the mood for visitors but by the time he's finished bounding down the steps his big, cheesy motel owner's grin is firmly in place. It slips a little as he lopes around the corner past the ice machine to see a young man and an older man standing by the office door. Two men who appear to be - for want of a better phrase- _all over each other_ ; holding hands, stroking each others' hair and looking into each others' eyes. Norman gulps. His crooked smile slips a little more and he doesn't know where to look, so he looks everywhere and nowhere, all at once.

"May I... uh... _help_ you gentlemen?" His voice cracks, he swallows past it.

The older of the two men flashes a lazy smile.

"You sure can, friend. We'd like a room for the night."

Norman looks from one to the other as though they are specimens under a microscope. He thinks he can smell pot, which might explain the glassy, fuzzy look in the younger man's eyes. He squirms uncomfortably. He's aware that he must look completely unprofessional, as if he's not the actual owner of the motel and is just filling in for someone.

" _A_ room? _One_ room? Uh... for the _night_?"

The man's steady gaze makes Norman break eye contact first.

"Where are we, Echo Canyon? Yes. A room. One room. For the night, _por favor."_

Norman switches to automatic pilot, opens the register, and rattles off the room rates. The man pays for the room. He makes sure to ask for a _double bed,_ and reiterates his wishes more than once. Norman reaches for a key and notices that his fingers are shaking. Behind him, the men are talking in not so muted whispers.

"He's a pretty one, ain't he?"

"He sure is. Beautiful eyes- if a little intense."

"Twitchy."

"Yeah... you can say that again. Twitchy. Like a baby bird that just got hatched."

Laughter, sharp and abrupt.

"Maybe he just needs breaking in."

Norman's fingers tighten so hard around a key that the teeth bite into his skin.

 _It's none of my business, it's none of my business. They're most likely taking one room to save money, that's all. There's nothing funny going on, nothing untoward, or... or..._

 _ **Perverts** is what they are!_

 _Mother! No! It's none of our business!_

 _They're a pair of perverts and you're going to let them stay at MY motel!_

Norman's fingers skim the key to Cabin 1. He begins fretting uncontrollably. _Why would I want to give them Cabin 1? **Why**?! Cabin 1 is for... is for... oh, God..._

The air in the office is stifling, the walls melt in and out. A wave of nausea washes over Norman while a stuffed bird in the parlor fixes him with a merciless, beady eyed glare. _Everyone stares at me- everyone and everything and I hate it! I hate it! Stop staring at me, just stop it RIGHT NOW!_

"Hey, pal? You okay?" The older man reaches out a tentative hand, but Norman jerks away from it. "Hey, easy there- we were just kidding around. We're harmless, see? We were just kidding you. We just want a room, that's all, then we'll be out of your hair. Really, pal- there's nothing to worry about."

Norman's hand falls, trembling, to the last key on the board. Cabin 12, right down at the far end of the row. The man cocks his eyebrow, a silent question.

"It's the cleanest cabin," Norman tells him with a sickly smile. "Also, it's the furthest away from the house. _For privacy_. That is... uh..."

His voice squeaks to a stop, and so does time. The air turns as still as one of Norman's stuffed birds.

The older man smiles warmly. "Say no more, buddy. The end one is fine."

"I'm sorry we make you nervous," the younger man adds, stifling a giggle.

"Oh, _you_ don't make _me_ nervous." Norman backpedals, feebly. "It's not that at _all_. I really don't mind _who_ stays here as long as they abide by Mo... by _my_ rules and don't break the place up or anything."

"Well, you can be sure we won't do that. We'll be as quiet as church mice, right, Josh?"

The man twirls the key around on his index finger, somehow making it seem suggestive, before leaving the office with Josh. Norman's face burns like the sun as they clomp and laugh their way to the end of the boardwalk and disappear, _thankfully_ , into Cabin 12, the last one of all, the farthest one away from the house- the farthest one away from Mother.

But that night, even at the top of the house with the windows shut and the curtains drawn, Norman can still hear them laughing. He clamps his hands over his ears and buries himself deep into the corner of his room. Because it's not enough that his guests torment him, there's someone else doing it as well. Someone who never _stops_ tormenting him.

 _Perverts, that's what they are! Dirty, unnatural perverts!_

"Mother! Ignore them. They're just a couple of paying guests who'll be gone in the morning, like all the others!"

 _Perverts! Sinners!_ _SODOMIZERS! And you were going to give them Cabin 1! Are cheap whores not enough for your filthy mind? Isn't it enough that you're breaking your poor mother's heart by lusting after whores? You're an abomination, that's what you are! An abomination! You don't care about anyone but yourself!_

Norman puts on a record to drown out the sounds of his Mother's incessant harping. He can't tell her that times have changed because he doesn't understand it himself- he was away for too many years. He turns up the volume and pulls the pillows over his head, willing the night to be over. On the other side of the door he can still hear her babbling about sodomy. He wasn't even thinking about sodomy, but now, thanks to her, he can't get it out of his mind. Shut up, he thinks, and it's only a thought. A loud, frantic thought that he can't articulate, even though it's only two words. _Shut up. Shut up! **SHUT UP!**_

 _Oh God, just let me make it to the end of the night without anyone getting killed..._

On Friday morning, Norman opens his eyes carefully. Everything is quiet, including Mother. He unfolds himself painfully, having fallen unconscious during the night. The air is brittle as he crosses the room on unsteady feet and peers nervously through the curtains.

The world is still where he left it, and he breathes out in relief.

Norman leaves the house and almost sidles down the steep stone steps to the motel. He's anxious, for no good reason. He _knows_ that nothing bad happened in the night. He knows Mother better than anyone; she would have made a song and dance if she'd done away with a 'sodomizer'. He would have woken up to find her standing there, covered in blood, dripping it all over the floor, clutching that ghastly knife and wearing the insane, _evil_ grin that scared him witless. But that never happened. She must have worn herself out calling him names over the sounds of Beethoven's _Eroica_ until she finally fell asleep.

Norman potters around in the office until he hears the men leave Cabin 12. He takes a deep, deep breath to overcome his his jangling nerves and waits behind the counter, feeling awkward and dizzy but trying to look casual and confident. The men arrive at the office, a little disheveled, wearing huge, satisfied grins. Norman's face involuntarily jerks into a lopsided grin of its own. The three men stare at each other for a frozen moment, and then all of them, Norman included, begin laughing. Out of fear, or nerves, or relief, or recognition, it doesn't really matter to Norman anymore. They are laughing, and they are still alive.

"You must think I was born yesterday," Norman tells them. "And it's true, I am a little naive to some extent. But I hope I didn't put you off, and I hope you enjoyed your stay."

"Listen, pal..."

"Norman. Please... call me Norman."

"Listen, Norman, we've stayed in some places, let me tell you. Trying to keep off the beaten track, y'know? But we can both safely say this is one of the nicest motels we've ever used."

Norman brightens. Why, if the day isn't looking up already!

"For one, it's quiet. Apart from some old dame we heard yelling in the night. Or it could have been a cat, who knows? Anyway. It's quiet, the bed was really comfortable, the sheets were _so_ clean, I mean, _obsessively_ clean, but that ain't a bad thing... and the bathroom... everything worked! The toilet flushed, the shower didn't drip- sir, I salute you. You run this place by yourself?"

Norman's head pecks the air like a bird. "Yes, uh-huh, mostly. I mean I _sometimes_ have help, but..." his voice trails off, weakly.

"Well, Norman, you're doing a terrific job. Who cares if you're a little jumpy? It's not a crime, right?"

"Right." Norman nods. That's one thing he can agree with!

The man continues. "We're definitely going to recommend this place to others we know who might... _need to stay off the beaten track_ , if you know what I mean."

Norman's skin grows clammy. He knows his sickly smile has returned. It's all he can do to nod mutely as the man hands over the key to Cabin 12. He stares down at the key as though all the strange, forbidden secrets of the night are contained within it. If he looks at it long enough, he will no longer have to wonder about anything again.

"Don't look so worried, Norman! We didn't break anything _or_ leave anything behind. No junk, no drugs or alcohol, no _nasty surprises_." The man wiggles his fingers and waggles his eyebrows, and Josh, standing behind him, goes, " _wooooooooo_!"

Norman clenches the key in his fist, imprinting its shape on his palm. "Have a safe trip," is all he can think of to say, and he despises himself for it.

The men leave the office with cries of, _we will!_ and, _see you again some day, Norm old pal!_

Their car pulls out onto the old highway, and after they're gone, it falls quiet again.

Norman counts the scant amount of money in the till and glances at the calendar. It's Friday, the end of the working week, but not for him. The Bates Motel stays open seven days a week- it can't afford _not_ to. They desperately need the business, meaning every guest counts...

Even if _Mother_ doesn't always think so.

Norman slumps over the open register and rakes his fingers through his hair. He yawns widely, the result of a broken, fitful night. His neck aches, his back aches, his limbs ache. Everything aches, but he's too exhausted to sleep. He rests his chin on his arms and stares out of the window, past the flapping curtain, at a hazy mountain in the distance. The mountain soothes his troubled mind, lulling him into an almost hypnotic state. Finally, after who knows how long, Norman decides to go back to the house and make himself a toasted cheese sandwich and a glass of milk. It's been an uneventful week, and he thinks he deserves a reward.


End file.
